


What the eye can't see

by Wombledon



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Best Friends, F/M, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29376033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wombledon/pseuds/Wombledon
Summary: Starts almost immediately after the end of Chapter 16. What happens when lives have to be picked up again, especially when Mando has no kid, no ship, no Tribe and a broken Creed?
Relationships: Din Djarin & Cara Dune, Din Djarin/Cara Dune
Comments: 68
Kudos: 58





	1. What's next?

Din hadn’t said a whole lot of anything since Grogu left with Skywalker, preferring to spend most of his time alone. Bo-Katan and Koska Reeves had taken Gideon’s ship, the vast majority of the supplies it contained, and had departed with a very frosty air. Cara couldn’t understand what was going on with them. All this over a Darksaber that Din would willingly hand over? Could they not see that he had enough to cope with? She was still in shock at Grogu’s departure and seeing Din remove his helmet. If it was overwhelming for her, she couldn’t even begin to imagine how he was feeling.

On the one hand, she wanted to talk to him about what had happened, and on the other, she didn’t. She had two prisoners to deliver, a life to pick up again, and hopefully, stop her friend from falling apart in front of her eyes. She was sure she couldn’t cope if he lost it. Seeing Grogu leave had dragged up all of her emotions about the loss of family and she knew that if Din fell apart, she would collapse right there with him. So, she let him be, even though it was hard to see him so closed off and alone. He was physically present, but that was about it.

He didn’t talk beyond the necessary, had his helmet firmly back in place, and stayed away from everyone as much as it was possible to do on a ship like the Slave when four people and two prisoners were aboard. The most he had interacted with people were the somewhat terse discussions about who Luke Skywalker actually was and secondly, about the prisoner capture reward.

Bo-Katan had agreed that they should take the entire reward and a sizable cache of munitions from Gideon’s cruiser. The cruiser was worth way more to the Mandalorian women anyway, not to mention the additional TIE-fighters and Lambda shuttle it contained. They had done remarkably well for themselves from this adventure and received way more than they bargained for. Alas, despite the haul, it wasn’t enough. Bo-Katan was furious about the Darksaber and her business with Mando was far from over. They did not part on the friendliest of terms, but Din was too tired to give a damn. Cara was also happy to see the back of them; they had made a good team, but the atmosphere was getting too stressful, and she was convinced that Bo-Katan would take the opportunity to knife Din if she got the chance. Nobody was sorry when they parted ways.

As for the other members of the team, neither Boba Fett nor Fennec Shand wanted any part of the reward either. In particular, Fett wanted no part of anything associated with Skywalker having had a run-in with him and his New Republic allies a few years previously. Any sort of share in the reward from the New Republic would bring him to their attention again.

“That was not our pledge,” explained Fett. “The child is safe. There is no reward due or debt to be paid. I want nothing to do with Skywalker or anything associated with him. It nearly killed me once, and I’ve no wish to go there again. So don’t even mention my name in connection with this.”

“Well, at least take all these munitions,” said Din, nodding towards the pile of Imperial weapons. He examined an excellent disintegrator rifle before putting it back next to the others. It would make him sick to use anything associated with Gideon. That cursed Darksaber was enough of a millstone around his neck. “Take them. We don’t want them,” he said, gesturing to Cara, indicating that they had discussed the weapons cache. “And I have nowhere to put them.”

“I can’t use imperial weapons,” explained Cara, somewhat wistfully as she eyed up some impressive, customised Westar blasters. They were old-school but damn, they were so good, and the customisation made them even better as the blasters fit perfectly in her hand. She sighed with regret as she put them back with the rest of the munitions. The Imps always had the best stuff.

Fett and Fennec agreed with the proposal. They could use most of the munitions and barter the rest. It was a good deal for them, and that was the last discussion any of them had about the reward.

When Fett asked where they wanted to go next, Cara asked for Nevarro as she had to hand-over both Gideon and Pershing to the New Republic system, and Din agreed with a half-shrug, having nowhere else to go. Then he retreated to an unused grey-water and occasional cargo hold in the bowels of the ship, and Cara found him there, hours later, just lying on the floor.

“Eh… Mando?” she asked, opening the hatch and looking down on him. “Are you okay down there?”

She’d never seen him like this before. Din always found something to do but now, he was lying flat out with all of his back armour removed. It looked like a med pack was open beside him.

“Yes.”

“We’re having something to eat. Are you hungry?”

“No,” he grumped at her. 

“What are you doing down there?”

“My back hurts. The cold floor is helping.”

“Oh, okay,” she said. “Do you need-”

“Nothing, thank you.” He cut her off without even waiting to hear what she was going to ask.

Cara got the message and left him alone. She closed the hatch with a grimace. What the hell was going on? Who in their right mind would lie in an old grey-water hold? It was as if he had voluntarily put himself into the most miserable prison cell he could find. She shook her head when she returned to Fennec and Fett.

“Nothing,” she said with a glower. “He’s just lying there in that lower hold with a sore back and is as grumpy as fuck.”

She tried not to take Din’s curt dismissal of her personally, but it bothered her. She was his friend, and he was hurting physically and emotionally. Hiding away from everyone and refusing help would only make his bad situation a whole lot worse and she didn’t want that to happen to him. 

“It’s probably best to leave him alone then,” said Fett as he threaded back to the cockpit. “If he wants to stay down there in the cold and end up reeking, then who are we to stop him?”

However, Shand took pity on her, seeing that Cara was genuinely worried. “His back is still sore, huh?”

Cara had heard nothing about a back injury until Din mentioned it but she didn’t want to get into it. “Apparently,” she replied with a dejected shrug.

Fennec sighed. “Look, I don’t know him that well, Dune. But I do know that when he needed help the most, you were the one he wanted, and he made us fly all the way to Nevarro for you. So, I reckon he knows you’re here and if he needs help, he’ll let you know. Right now, I bet he just needs some space. Plus, if he’s in pain, then he’ll be like a wampa with a fangache - I recommend staying well clear.”

Cara appreciated those few words, but they didn’t alleviate her worry about Din. She waited for two anxious hours in the navigation compartment. He eventually emerged, shivering with the cold, but when he caught Cara’s concerned gaze, he just shook his head very slightly at her, and they said no more about it. She kept a wary eye on him for the rest of the journey.

It was so unlike him not to care that he was filthy, that his armour was scuffed, and that he was so curt with everyone he was actually rude. This was not the man she knew, and she just wanted to get him off this ship, get him settled and safe, and that would give her some time to not only look after herself but to think about what could be done for him. She was so glad when their journey was over, and she packed up her kit in record time, eager to get both prisoners and one surly Mandalorian onto solid ground.

Fett dropped them off on Nevarro, but neither he nor Fennec wanted to hang around. As they said their goodbyes, Fett handed Cara a secure comms device. “In case either of you ever needs us again, use it, no hesitation. And I know you’ll keep an eye on our beskar-clad friend there. He’s pretty messed up. Maybe let me know how you’re both doing some time.”

“I will,” Cara replied sincerely. “And thank you. Both of you. We couldn’t have done it without you and again, thank you for watching my back,” she said directly to Fennec. The two women gave each other a firm handshake and soon, the Slave took off, leaving Din and Cara standing there in the sunlight, the prisoners in shackles beside them.

Cara turned to him. “I have to put these two in lock-up as the Rangers will be here for them soon. Follow me and keep an eye on them.”

“He’s too shocked to be of any use,” said Gideon with his usual archness.

There was the sharp sound of a beskar spear being withdrawn and Gideon felt it prod the back of his neck, not too gently either. “Move,” growled Din, and jabbed the spear at Gideon again.

Gideon decided he had better do as commanded and walked after Cara, having wisely chosen that it would not be smart to bait the Mandalorian right now.

“Dune! Mando!” came the shout from behind them as they walked towards the main street. 

Cara turned to see Greef Karga hurrying in their direction. “Hey, Boss!”

“Good to see you both,” he replied as he caught up to them. “A comm has just arrived - the Rangers are almost here. Let’s get these two locked up good and tight before they land.”

He nodded toward Din, who gave a stiff nod in return and they picked up the pace alongside Cara. In five minutes, they had Pershing and Gideon locked in two separate cells in Cara’s lock-up.

“Nervous?” came Gideon’s insidious voice again. “You should be. This isn’t over - you’ll see. Not only will Bo-Katan-”

“Oh, just shut the hell up!” snarled Cara and activated the soundproofing on his cell.

Pershing looked like he was about to throw up. “W-what’s going to happen to me? I tried to protect the child! My ear still hurts! She shot me! Who’s going to-”

“I don’t give a shit about you or your kriffing ear, di'kut,” snapped Din, and silenced his cell too. Pershing hammered on the transparisteel door, but the blows were silent, and Din was utterly unmoved.

Cara glanced at him as he never swore beyond an occasional “dank farrik”. She tossed him his hand binders which he caught deftly and attached to his belt with a quiet, “Thanks.”

She busied herself with custody datapads and some general chit-chat with Greef until the Rangers arrived but she couldn’t help casting the occasional glance over at Din. He stood like a statue between the two cells, watching the two imprisoned occupants with his back to her. His spear in one hand, the Darksaber in the other, blasters at the ready in holsters. Pershing made numerous attempts to communicate, and Gideon walked around his cell, occasionally standing still to stare down Mando. That was never going to work as Mando could stand there all day, face inscrutable and hidden, and not move a muscle.

Within the hour, eight heavily-armed Rangers showed up with mobile prisoner transport units that would move the prisoners back to the main ship. They were taking no chances with these two and their anxiousness to be gone from Nevarro was evident. Cara verified the transfer pads, and statements were taken from her and Din.

“We have the reward documentation here,” one of them said, setting it out on Cara’s desk. “Sir?” he gestured towards the morose Mandalorian. “It’s a substantial amount of money. Where will we transfer it to?”

Din didn’t answer for a moment and then cleared his throat. “Marshal Dune will take care of it.” 

“No, she won’t,” answered Cara for herself. “The money is yours, and it should be transferred to your Guild account.”

Din took a step forward. Not this reward shit again. “No, I don’t think so. You should-”

“I’m a Marshal. There are no rewards for doing my job. You captured both of these scum. Take the credits, Mando. Nobody else deserves it more.”

“Put it into his Guild account,” said Karga, with a no-nonsense tone. “We can sort out the finer details later. Everyone just wants these two imperial scum off our planet forever.”

Cara could feel Din’s glare on her and knew he was furious. His finger stabbed the Ranger’s datapad with such force that she was surprised it didn’t crack. When the documentation was all reviewed and finalised with Ranger efficiency, the prisoners were then bundled into the transport and hastily whisked away to the waiting ship.

Cara, Karga and Din stood on the street and watched the New Republic vessel blast off before it vanished into hyperspace.

“I hope never to see either of them ever again,” she sighed. “Bastards.”

“I want to hear all about it, “ said Greef, putting a friendly arm around her. “How does a good meal sound to you both, huh?”

“Just perfect,” replied Cara with a smile as she gathered up her stuff, and they all made their way towards the cantina.

Din, predictably, said nothing.

\-------

Even though he didn’t want to, and after Cara had supplied most of the information about Grogu’s rescue and what they had been up to since she left Nevarro, Din felt they both deserved to know the rest of the story. So, he filled them in on the main adventures he had with Grogu while they ate.

He wasn’t comfortable enough to remove his helmet in public, but the least he could do would be to sit with them and tell his two loyal friends the entire story. They knew a bit from the holos he sent them occasionally, but the extent of what he had been through with the kid was just incredible. He told them everything from the Krayt dragon, giant spider monsters, the mamacore, Bo-Katan, Ahsoka Tano, the journey to Tython, Grogu’s kidnapping, and all sorts of unexpected incidents in between.

It was exhausting for him to recount all of this. He didn’t talk much at the best of times but now, speaking about Grogu was something close to torture. He was already physically done in and sitting here in the noisy cantina was just about shredding every last nerve he had left. It was getting too much, and he just wanted to go, but he did not know where.

“I don’t know what to say, Mando. This is a hell of a story,” said Greef, his eyes filled with kindness and understanding because he knew what an effort that story took and that the loss of Grogu was still too raw for Mando to talk more about it. There was something else wrong also - it was also evident to him that the other man was in physical pain. While Mando was talking, he kept shifting in his seat and rolling his left shoulder and flexing his left arm. However, Greef figured he knew Mando pretty well at this point so he knew pointing out any problem to the other man, physical or otherwise, would not be well received.

“Thank you both for listening,” replied Din with an exhausted sigh beneath his helmet as he bit back another yawn. “And for everything that you’ve both done for Grogu and me. You especially, Cara. I’ll never be able to repay you for all you’ve done for us.”

“Don’t,” she said, biting her lip. “Please don’t. There are no debts between friends. Especially over something like this. He is your son and...” She cleared her throat. “There is nothing to repay.”

Karga detected the tremor in her voice and glanced between the two of them before deciding that the best course of action would be to move the conversation swiftly along. Fragile is not a word he would’ve ever associated with either of them but that’s what he saw now. The past few weeks’ events were only beginning to sink in and Karga felt that this might not end up with smiles all around.

“So, where are you going from here, Mando?”

Din took in a deep, shaky breath that was audible through the helmet. “I don’t know yet. I suppose a good place to start would be to look for a new ship. Actually, I should probably start with a place to stay. I’ll get a room here to star-”

Cara made a scoffing noise. “Here? In this dump? Oh please. You’re staying at my place. Greef will start to look into some ship details and suppliers for you.”

Karga nodded without questioning too much on the details. “I agree with that plan. You need to have people around you, Mando, whether you realise it or not, and I think you need something more besides.”

Din turned his head in surprise. “What?”

“Rest, and lots of it. That beskar you’re wearing is what’s keeping you upright at the moment.”

“And don’t think we don’t know you’ve been yawning your head off in there for the last two hours,” added Cara.

Din huffed. “I’m fi-”

“You’re not fine,” interrupted Karga firmly. “And we’re going to help you - it’s the least we can do.”

“I - I don’t know what to say,” said Din quietly, and it was true. He really didn’t know what to say or even what to ask for. He had always been self-sufficient and in charge of his destiny but now, everything was so far out of his control that he didn’t know where to turn.

“Come on,” said Cara, getting to her feet as she extended her hand to him. “Get up.”

Din took one look at her determined face, and he decided against arguing with her as she pulled him to his feet.

“I’ll call tomorrow afternoon,” said Greef. “See you both then and we’ll decide more at that time. For now, go and rest. That includes you, Cara.” He gave her a warning look and put a hand on her arm to hold her back for a moment. “Don’t forget to look after yourself. I’ve already had supplies for a few days delivered to your place, so you will have no excuse to do anything except stand down. Also, see what’s up with him - I think he’s injured his back or his shoulder or something.”

“Yeah, I know,” she said. “I’ll sort him out. We’ll be fine, Boss - thanks for getting our grub sorted. Saves me having to do it tomorrow.” She gave him a cheeky wink, gathered up her kit bag, and followed Din outside.

\-------

They walked through the town to the outskirts of the enclave. Her house was small and only had a single storey. However, it had a decent porch for watching the world go by and backed out onto rocky hills. Small it may be, but it suited her, and when they arrived she had never been as happy to see a place in her life. She ushered Din in ahead of her and he stood in the living room, not knowing what to say or do.

She dropped her kit bag near the door. “Where’s your kit?”

Din gestured at himself. “This is it.”

“Right, okaaay.” She gave a silent whistle. “Put your spear beside the front door and give me your blasters and removable weapons.”

He did as she asked, and she stored what she could in her gun safe. It was a tight fight to get everything in. A shudder went through her as she took the Darksaber from him. She detested the sight of it. She had just enough room for his various blast charges which she carefully attached to an already crammed shelf that was loaded with ammunition packs.

Din was checking over his armour for his concealed weapons. “Will the knives fit in there too?”

“No. I have somewhere else for them,” she said as she locked everything up securely. “Okay - follow me.”

He trudged after her down a short hallway that had a line of repurposed ammunition chests along it.

“You can have this room,” she said, opening a door. “And use the main fresher as your own. I have one attached to my room. I’ll get you some sheets, blankets, and towels.”

The room was small and empty apart from a narrow closet, a camp bed and another smaller ammunition chest, but it was the most comfortable spot he’d seen since the Crest was destroyed. He was deeply grateful for her kindness and the safety this place offered him. “Cara, I don’t know how to thank-”

She gave him a friendly punch on the arm. “Knock it off. Now - go in there,” she jerked her head towards the fresher, “And wash up. You’ll find everything you need and leave those filthy clothes at the door. Whatever is recoverable, we can get them washed and mended tomorrow.”

Din looked down himself. “Filthy?”

“Filthy. Those clothes could probably stand up on their own, and you badly need to clean yourself up.” Cara figured the best way to get him moving would be to come right out with it. She rummaged in another ammunition storage chest in the hallway and handed him all the required bed linen and towels. “Take as long as you need.”

Din dropped the bundle of linen and towels on the camp bed and then demagnetised his armour. He released the buckle on his blaster belt and tried to lift his bandolier over his head. He was so bone-achingly weary that everything hurt, his left shoulder and arm especially, so he couldn’t quite make it.

“Good grief, Din,” Cara said with a sigh, watching him twist uncomfortably first one way, and then another, to no avail. “You’re a wreck. When was the last time you slept in a bed?”

The use of his name did not go unnoticed by him. It was nice. With Cara, he wasn’t Mando, he was Din, and it made a difference as it was something that was just between the two of them. “I don’t remember.”

“I thought as much. Here, turn around - you still have your jetpack on. How do you take it off?”

He tried to bend his arms back behind him to show her, but again, his left arm wouldn’t cooperate. “There are hidden release buttons near the exhausts on either side. They add the extra magnetisation. Just press them both at the same time.”

“I got it,” she replied as she found the hidden buttons. The jetpack clicked, and she lifted it off him and placed it into the storage chest in the hallway that was next to his bedroom door. “Okay, now the rest can come off.”

He put up with her manhandling because it was easier to be told what to do right now than to make another decision for himself. Cara deftly removed his cloak, bandolier, belt with holsters, lower back armour, and folded them all neatly into the storage chest apart from the cloak which she left for washing. 

“Okay, next,” she said, releasing one pauldron and then the other. The cuirass followed and she removed the breast and back plates separately. They were lighter than they looked and up close, she could appreciate the beauty of the beskar and the web of intricate wiring underneath. Mandalorian armour was quite something - it was almost a second skin so perfect was the customisation. No wonder he could sleep in it if he had to. “What do I need to be careful about here?” she asked as she put a hand on his left vambrace.

“The whistling birds are empty but there’s the flamethrower, whipcord throwers, wrist daggers-”

“Yeah, why don’t you take care of those yourself,” she said, smiling about the deadly collection. “Anything else going to stab or explode on me?”

“No. Only ammo and knives. Vibro blade in my boot. These daggers here,” he gestured to hidden scabbards on his thighs. “The rest is the usual stuff you already know about.”

“The usual stuff,” she said with a snort. “You walking AAT, you.”

He could hear the good nature of her teasing and he didn’t mind it. He released his vambraces and took his gauntlets off while Cara worked on the rest of him. She released the ties on his flack jacket and saw numerous scorch marks and a few slashes in the material. He needed a new one as this one had seen better days, but for now, she placed it into the chest. She wondered if he would leave his helmet on or not but decided against mentioning it at all. Din had put the helmet back on after Grogu left and she hadn’t seen him without it since. So, ignoring it, she kneeled to remove his cuisses, knee brace, gaiters and unbuckled his boots. More ammo, daggers, and the Vibro knife appeared where he said they all would be. He was grateful for her help because he was too sore to even think about all that twisting and bending he’d have to do to divest himself of all his gear.

“I think all of this stuff should stay in this chest,” she said, gathering the varied collection of small weapons and sundries. “It needs a combination code and facial recognition to open it.” 

“Good idea,” he said, watching her. She had a good way of storing the armour upright, which is how he preferred to keep it as it protected the wires.

She stowed away everything and then showed him the combination sequence on the control panel on the chest. Then she showed him how to program the facial recognition. “I recommend you program it without your helmet.”

His head turned towards her with that tilt she knew only too well. “I’m sleepy, Cara, not stupid.”

She raised a wry eyebrow at him. “Oh. I see. You’re funny now.”

He gave a one-shouldered shrug and they stared at each other until they both gave a small laugh at the same time.

Nobody else could make him laugh or smile quite like her. No matter what the circumstances were, she usually managed to coax some sort of humour out of him. Even now, when he was miserable and aching, she managed to get him to laugh. He took a deep breath. He could do this. It was Cara, and she had stood with him during one of the worst moments of his life. ‘Take the helmet off,’ he said to himself, willing his hands to lift it away from his head.

The knowledge that someone else was about to see his face made his heart pound. But Din reckoned if Migs Mayfeld knew what he looked like, then how could it be rational that Cara had only a fleeting glimpse of him? It was utterly pointless to keep himself from her any longer. So he forced himself to calm down, took the helmet and his cowl off, and gave his friend a nervous smile. “I was waiting until it was just us.”

“It’s nice to see you again,” she said carefully. “Strange, but nice.” It had to be traumatic for him - that helmet had covered his face since he was a child, so it was perfectly understandable that he looked really freaked out right now. She kept her voice low. “Okay - facial recog you can do when you’re ready.” She took in the sight of him with a quick once over. His hair was an absolute mess, as was his beard. Standing there in his socks and grubby flight suit, he looked so thin, tired and grey that she was shocked. “Get yourself sorted out and let me know whenever you’re ready.” She was not about to point out how terrible he looked; he was upset enough as it was. Instead, she gave him a nod and headed off towards her room and her own badly needed wash and change of clothes.

Din gathered up the towels she had left for him, and dumping the rest of his clothes with his cloak, he headed into the fresher. Now that he had time and space to look at himself, he was quite ashamed of his wretched state and general griminess. His hair was dreadful. His beard which was patchy at the best of times was now ragged, liberally peppered with grey and the unkempt stubble covered most of his cheeks and was halfway down his neck. He had bruises around his throat from where the Dark Trooper had gripped him and nearly strangled him. Only his helmet had saved his head from being crushed in. He owed his life to that beskar, Grogu’s life too, as his armour had protected the child from Gideon’s blaster. He could see bruises on his torso from where the blaster bolts had impacted him at such close range. There was a particularly nasty-looking bruise where the Dark trooper got a kick in, just below his ribs. Now that he could see it properly, he probed the area gently, and the pain made him suck in a sharp breath. Nothing was broken but it hurt and he was annoyed with himself that he hadn’t protected himself better. His Fighting Corps allies would be most disappointed in him. An opportunistic kick like that shouldn’t have landed. He had not been keeping his skills up to date.

He thought about his discarded clothes and remembered the embedded grot on his flight suit. It was slashed and had scorch marks on it from Gideon’s blaster. Again, something he should have attended to. He knew how the suit hung off his frame too as if his chest had shrunk. Din supposed it had. After all, it felt like his heart had been ripped right out of it.

He had never before let himself deteriorate like this. Part of being a self-sufficient and strong warrior was self-care. Lately, everything was centred around keeping Grogu safe, warm and fed while he had tried to keep the Razor Crest together, find jobs, search for other members of his Tribe, the Jedi, and the kid’s own kind. Then everything went to hell. The Crest was gone and the kid... He’d lost his family for the third time. His parents, his Tribe, and now his son. What was it about him that resulted in him ending up on his own? Maybe the universe had decided that it just wasn’t worth wasting a family on the likes of him. Revenge for being a cold-blooded killer.

Din gripped the sides of the sink and swallowed the ache of sadness in his throat. He didn’t know what ached more; his weary body or his heart? He looked again at his sad reflection and knew the answer. His heart. No question. The only thing he wanted right now was to look down and see the kid holding his lower leg and grinning up at him, probably looking for a cookie or some jogan fruit juice. He could almost hear the child and, kriff, he wanted him back. Anything to hear Grogu say “Uh?” and look at him in that curious little way he had. He shook his head because it seemed like all he did these days was feel sorry for himself. Mayfeld had been right. The shame of losing everything important to him was a disgrace. What would other Mandalorians say now? Or members of his Tribe? He had made a choice to abandon the Creed and he alone would have to live with their repudiation of him, but it hurt. Deeply. The Creed was no longer his main focus. It had been replaced by being a father. He would do anything for Grogu because he was his son. 

The loss of the child was therefore devastating to him. Having sacrificed the Creed, he thought he would have more time to be a father to Grogu. To experience more adventures together. He had not expected to hand him over to the Jedi so quickly. So, nothing seemed to matter anymore and he had no idea what to do next with his life. He didn’t even have a place to live. He was disgusted with his haggard appearance and noted physical deterioration, and he was ashamed of his armour which hadn’t been cared for the way it deserved to be. All of his armour repair and cleaning kit had been destroyed on the Crest, and Fett hadn’t got the materials he liked to use. He had tried to fix it up but his heart just wasn’t in it, so his armour still had scuffs on it from where that Dark Trooper had tossed him around and where Gideon had sliced at him with the Darksaber. From a fierce, independent warrior he had turned into a… what? A fraud of a Mandalorian who wasn’t even able to undress himself.

Din stared at himself in the mirror and a scruffy, greying, middle-aged man with dark circles under sunken eyes stared right back.

It was all too much.

A quiet half-sob half-cough escaped and he was shocked with himself.

Crying?! What was wrong with him? He had more control over himself than this. He bit his lips and tried to get his tired mind to focus. One task. Just do one thing. He could take his time - there was no kid who had puked or wanted a snack, or who had messed about with switches in the cockpit. Cara wouldn’t bother him and he had nothing else to do except take care of himself.

He took a deep breath and looked at his pathetic reflection again. Okay. He could do this. Thoroughly wash everything first, then cut and shave everything that needed it, working from top to toenails. It took him over an hour but at last, at long long last, he was done.

Wiping the condensation off the mirror, he was somewhat satisfied with what he saw. His beard was shaved off properly and his moustache neatened up. The last thing he had to do was sort out his weird hair. The last time he cut it, Grogu had interrupted him and he never finished the job. The result had been uneven long hair in the front and a somewhat rough chop at the back which made his cow’s lick stick up all the time. He took up the razor and clipped in a blade. This wouldn’t take long as he could do this with his eyes closed. The razor buzzed and, tipping his head forward, he swiftly ran it over the side of his head. Lots of dark hair spilled into the sink.

“Oh… shit!” he growled when he saw the pile. He looked in the mirror and saw he’d barely left 15 millimetres of hair on one side. He examined the razor and the blade. It was the wrong one - he should’ve used that blade at the back only but instead, he’d damn near scalped himself. 

He heaved a huge sigh and clicked his tongue in annoyance. With such an amount gone, there was nothing for it but to do the other side the same. With a grimace, he worked the razor over his entire head and looked sadly at the growing pile of hair in the sink. Eventually, he clicked the razor off and checked out his handiwork. Well, he was neater but with stupid looking fuzzy hair as if he was some sort of angst-ridden teenaged street urchin who was pretending to be tough. He should’ve paid more attention to what he was doing. Krifsakes. 

Apart from the unfortunate hairstyle, he felt relieved as he was scrubbed clean and felt better as a result. The hot water had relieved some of the pain in his shoulder and back and that helped his appearance too. It took some of the pinched and drawn look from his face. He took one last very quick shower to wash away the tiny remaining hairs from his scalp or they’d itch like crazy. He found some hair product in the cabinet and tried to sort out the fuzz - it was not an improvement. Now he had less fuzz and more spikes. He was too tired to wash it out again so he left it alone. Then he set about drying himself off and tidying up the fresher. Satisfied that both he and fresher were presentable, he wrapped towels around himself and slipped back into the bedroom. He saw that Cara had left him a few pillows, some soft sleeping clothes and thick socks. He swiftly dressed, and figured that the clothes would do for bed but not much else. The shirt was too tight across his shoulders and the pants were too short. At least he could pull the socks up around his calves, so he tucked the ends of the pants into the socks. Then he made up the camp bed and that made him ache so badly, that he just wanted to lie down, but it would be wrong not to speak to her and say goodnight. Out of habit, he picked up his helmet but after a beat, he consciously set it back down. He felt his heart pounding and he tried to get himself to calm down. It took a few moments of breathing slowly and he had to wipe the perspiration from his clammy hands. He trusted Cara and he wanted to do this.

Taking a final deep breath, he opened the bedroom door and joined her in the living area, where she was curled up in an armchair, reading her datapad.

“Feeling better?” she asked him quietly, glancing up at him as she shut off her datapad. 

“Like a new man,” he replied.

Cara gave a small smile. “You are a new man. I don’t… know you.” She couldn’t reconcile the imposing Mandalorian warrior that she knew with the smaller, spiky-haired man standing before her now, who was wearing her old training gear. He wasn’t as tall or as broad as she was used to and only that she knew better, it would take some convincing that this man was Mando. She averted her eyes. “I’m sorry, Din. It’s so strange seeing you like this.”

He gave a non-committal hum and ran his hand over his stupid hair, feeling utterly self-conscious. He felt like he didn’t even know how to stand correctly.

Cara looked at him again and knew she had to help him out as he looked so lost and unsure of himself. She supposed it’d be like standing naked in front of someone. Even though that person might be a friend, anyone would still feel self-conscious and uncomfortable. “Didn’t think you’d go for the hoth-hedgehog look,” she said, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Spiky hair? Really?”

“I used the wrong damn blade. So I can only have fuzz or spikes,” he said, feeling shy. What must he look like to her?

“Oh dear,” she said fondly as she moved to stand before him. “Can I see if your hair is fixable?

He gave a stiff, tense nod.

She reached out and tried to flatten the spikes. “Yeah - no hope there. You've cut it way too short. Maybe next time ask for a bit of help before doing this to yourself.” She bit back a chuckle as his hair sprang up again. “Sorry - I’m not laughing at you but it is strange seeing you like this. It must be so weird for you.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. “I don’t have the words to describe it.” He paused for a few moments before he added, “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

“You’re still you,” she reassured. “Your helmet and your armour don’t define you, the person. Don’t lose sight of that.”

He sighed. “I think I have. I’m standing here and I don’t even know how to do that without feeling like an idiot. I don’t know anymore… ‘This is the Way’. What ‘Way’? I have no clue.” He sighed with exhausted frustration. “And I’m homeless. Were it not for you and all you have done, Cara… I…”

“If you even think about saying ‘thank you’ one more time, I’ll kick your ass. I mean it,” she interrupted him, deciding that she had to help him lighten the mood a bit or else he was going to fall apart right now as the reality of his situation began to sink in. She gave him a matey shove on the arm. “C’mon, Din. Stop! You’re not homeless and accept some badly needed help from a friend. Everything will work out and you’ll get there in time. You will,” she said, reassuring him so positively that he had to believe her. She then gave his cheek a gentle, fleeting stroke. “At least you shaved. Takes years off you.”

“That bad, huh?”

“You looked like you’d slept in a bin,” she said, still smiling at him. “Which is not far off, I suppose. At least you don’t smell like an old grey-water hold anymore. Okay - one last thing, I know you’re about to drop from exhaustion, but you’ve had nothing to eat or drink since you got here. I’ve got some sandwiches. Nothing too heavy. They’re on the table in the kitchen. Eat in there if you want and help yourself to whatever drink you want. The Boss sent us lots of food and is bringing more tomorrow.”

Din hadn’t even thought about food but as soon as she mentioned it, his stomach rumbled. He nodded gratefully and padded into the kitchen. Taking a selection of sandwiches and some milk, he felt now would be a good time to eat in front of someone. So, he returned to Cara and sat on the couch, using a small table for his food. They used to do something like this all the time on Sorgan and it was one of the things he missed the most about those easy days. Chatting with her about everything and nothing over an evening meal, but it had never been face to face. Sometimes, facing away from each other indoors or occasionally, she’d be outside on the porch and he’d sit near the open door or window, and they’d talk.

“I know this cloak was for washing but really, it’s more hole than cloak at this point,” said Cara, interrupting his thoughts and talking matter-of-factly about mundane things. She held up the bedraggled garment to the light to examine it. “Not to mention that it’s half the length it was when I first met you. Could you spring for a new one?” She vividly remembered the first time she saw him; tall and straight, with shining armour, broad shoulders and a cloak that almost reached his ankles.

“Maybe,” he said around a mouthful of a delicious sandwich. “Are my sewing skills not up to your high standard?”

She laughed. “Sewing skills? You have wire staples in bits of it!”

“Well, I had to cut some off after I got the jetpack and I meant to get around to fixing those holes and raggy bits.” Stars, he was thirsty. He went and poured himself another large glass of cool milk. “Yeah, bin it. I’ll get another one,” he said as he resumed his seat with a groan as his back protested. “I can sew. I turned Grogu’s robe into a suit with feet for him.”

“You made him a romper suit?” Cara’s face lit up in delight.

“A what suit?” He inhaled another sandwich.

“Romper. You know, a little suit to let him romp about in.”

“If that means something that’d keep his feet warm while he was scurrying about, then yes, I made him a romper suit.”

“Oh, that’s too cute!” she said, smiling broadly at him. “I bet he loved it. You made him a romper suit and didn’t have the time to fix up your cloak. Awww!”

He gave a derisory huff. “The kid’s feet were always freezing and he wouldn’t keep socks on, so I sewed him into his robe. Problem solved.”

Cara chuckled at his gruff practicalities which were also very sweet. She picked up the top half of his flight suit and saw some staple work was also present here, not to mention the stink off it.

“Hmmm. In addition to a new cloak, what about another flight suit and a new flak jacket? This top is finished. It’s scorched and filthy.”

“No. They’re not easy to find. Leave that - it can be washed.” He was so done with talking about clothes.

Cara heard his irate tone. Rather than get into with him right now, she backed off. “True. Leave it.” He was getting another flight suit whether he realised or not. These rags weren’t even worth washing. His cowl, black undersuit top and cargo pants were about the only things that were somewhat salvageable. She wasn’t about to rummage through his underwear so had no clue about that. However, all of it needed a thorough sanitizing wash. Or three.

He heaved a sigh of relief and took a large bite out of another sandwich when suddenly his stomach roiled and nausea swept over him. He figured he knew what was wrong. He was so weary, and it had been so long since he’d eaten properly, not to mention drinking anything other than water, that his stomach just wasn’t used to it. Eating in front of someone was also adding to the knot in his stomach. He propped his head upon his closed fist tried to relax in the hope that he could get the nausea to pass. It also probably didn’t help that recently, he’d taken every sort of pain med he could find for his various injuries, and mostly without food.

He was grateful that she didn’t pursue any further conversation because tonight he was just too exhausted to talk further. He figured he must seem rude and ungrateful to her but he just couldn’t muster the energy to be any other way than what he was. He had so much to tell her, to explain, but his head felt like it was filled with bantha wool. He was dizzy and the exhaustion was bone-deep at this point. He also wanted to get away, to go and hide in that small bedroom, but he felt that if he moved an inch he was going to be sick. He shivered as a cold feeling swept over him but he gritted his teeth, hid his distress, and tried to at least sit there without making a bad situation a whole lot worse.

However, Cara fully understood what it was like to crash after you had forced yourself to keep going beyond the limits of your endurance. She had been in that position herself after a tough battle, or a scrap with some Imp, and it was kind words and deeds from comrades that had pulled her through. She would bet everything she owned that this was the first time anyone had done this for Din and it made her heart hurt.

If her past experiences were anything to go by, he could very likely be sick over the next few days. She called it stress-flu but she was sure it had a proper name. It was as if your body would force you to stay put in one place long enough so you could heal. If that meant putting you in hospital, so be it. But the only thing that staved off stress-flu was care and attention plus the realisation that if you fought against help, it would make everything a hell of a lot worse. So, the best way to deal with a stubborn Mandalorian was to put in terms he could understand.

She sat beside him and hoped he’d listen. Din still had his head propped up on a fist and his eyes were closed. He looked utterly dreadful and she could see the effort it was taking him just to sit there. She saw the tension in him, from the way the muscles twitched in his forearms, to the way his jaw was clenched so tightly that her own teeth ached in sympathy.

“You’ve been under too much stress for far too long,” she said softly as their conversation had petered out. “Tomorrow, you’ll feel a little bit better and every day after that, a little bit more. But you have got to give it time. We’ve got this. The kid is safe with Skywalker, and everything is going to be okay. But please, don’t fight against me. I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, but I’ve been here before and fighting against help will make everything worse. Trust me on that one. It’s all way too much right now, you’re sore from fighting, and your body doesn’t know what to do with all the adrenaline. It’s making you sick. So, whatever you need, I will help you with it, and it will stay between us, okay? There’s nothing to be ashamed of here.”

There was no answer.

“Do you hear me? Din?”

He found he couldn’t speak as an overwhelming urge to cry with tiredness, pain, and gratitude was choking him. But if he thought throwing up was going to be bad, he could think of nothing worse than crying in front of anybody. He hid his eyes behind his hand for a few moments, relieved that she didn’t press any further, and somehow, he managed to stop the tears and the nausea faded a bit. Then he stood up, groaning as joints cracked and protested as he did so.

“I hear you,” he said after clearing that damned inconvenient lump from his throat. He wanted to end the evening on a lighter note, just to show her that he wasn’t a total basket case. “And when I can, as a thank you present, we’ll have a sparring session where I’ll let you kick my ass into next week.”

Cara snorted at that. “Oh ho! You’ll ‘let me’, huh? Ha! I could snap you in two if I wanted. Now go to bed and get a start on that rest we’ve been talking about. Goodnight, Din. Sleep well.” She knew what he was trying to do and she gave him a warm smile.

“You too, Cara.” Having got the humorous reaction he was hoping for, he tipped two fingers to his forehead in a grateful salute and left her. He was relieved when he closed the bedroom door behind him - he made it this far without puking and that was a bonus. His eyes caught Grogu’s silver ball beside his helmet and he picked it up. Then he quite literally crawled onto the camp bed. He dragged the blankets over himself and before he knew it, he was fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so impressed with how some writers on here write so fluidly and so well. Thank you all for the great stories and for your talent and efforts. I've been trying to write something too but it takes me forever. It took so long, not only did it need a rewrite because Grogu headed off with Skywalker, but now, it looks like Cara will be gone too. Dammit! I'm so disappointed in Gina Carano - she did not need to be needlessly hurtful to people but she was, and worse, she kept doing it. If that means we have to lose a much-loved character because the actor couldn't take a step back, well, so be it. I hope they recast the role because Cara is a fantastic character and deserves way more than to just disappear. I would've kept working on this but the recent events mean I should share it now and try and wrap it up as soon as possible.
> 
> In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this. I hope to wrap it up in about 5 chapters.


	2. Hidden hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the adrenaline fades away after a fight that's when you really start feeling it.

The following morning Cara woke and, for a moment, she was disorientated in her own home. Then, everything came back to her, and she remembered she was finally at home, in her bed, and a Mandalorian warrior was asleep in her spare room. She gave a wry grin and stretched.

She threw back the bedclothes and got up, sleepily shuffling through her small home. At the front door were large boxes of supplies; sent over by Karga as promised. She took them in and stored everything away before preparing her breakfast. Being home had some significant benefits, and fresh food was one of them, including fresh caf. She was just about to settle down to her breakfast when she thought she heard Din calling her. She paused a moment and then heard it again. It was definitely him.

She gave his bedroom door a few taps and called out, “Are you awake?”

There was no answer, so she opened it and waited for it to slide back. “Din?” she called softly from the threshold. “Did you call me?”

There was no reply, only the sound of deep, slow breathing. The room wasn’t that dark as he hadn’t pulled the window shutters, but she could see that he was fast asleep, lying on his side and his face was half-buried in a pillow with his arms tucked up underneath it.

He didn’t stir and was sleeping the sleep of the truly exhausted. 

Suddenly, he heaved a huge sigh and turned over onto his back and spoke. Whatever he was saying she couldn’t understand it. He was dreaming and was so deeply asleep that he didn’t, or couldn’t, wake himself up. He looked peaceful, now that she could see his face a bit better. Gone were the deepest of the worry lines from his forehead. The shadows around his eyes were still evident, but otherwise, he looked comfortable enough. He moved again, and this time, an arm flopped down by his side, and his fingers grazed the floor. Something fell out of his hand and rolled across the floor towards her where she bent down to pick it up.

Cara bit her lip when she saw it. It was the kid’s favourite toy - that silver ball handle thing that fascinated him. The thoughts that Din had fallen asleep with it and held it all night, made her heart hurt. It was the only bit of the Razor Crest that he had left and more importantly, it was the one part that mattered the most. It was still warm from his hand and for some reason, that made her even sadder. He was lonely and holding that silver ball was his only tangible link to Grogu. He had nothing else. Rather than try and put the ball back in his hand, she placed it beside his helmet on the storage chest so he would see it when he woke.

She waited for a moment or two to see if her movements had disturbed him, but clearly, he was entirely out of it. On Sorgan for weeks, and on their various missions and excursions together, he was the one who was first up in the mornings. He never seemed to sleep for prolonged periods, and for all the time she’d known him, he had never slept quite like this. She checked him again and then closed the door silently behind her.

She finished her breakfast, savouring the caf and then helped herself to a few delicious pastries. Then she dressed and puttered about, sorting clothes and putting items away. Doing routine household chores helped her reacquaint herself with her life and home. She hadn’t been away that long, but it somehow seemed like she’d been away for months. Everything had changed, and when she’d left, she could never have imagined that it would turn out like this. That Grogu would be gone, the Razor Crest too, that she let a prisoner like Mayfeld go free, that Giddeon and Pershing were now captured and that Din Djarin was the heir presumptive to Mandalore. The events of what they’d all been through kept going through her mind during the day as she tried to get her head around everything.

As the day wore on, and lunch passed, she wondered when Din would wake as he’d been asleep for over 13 hours now. By the time Karga called in in the late afternoon, Cara was anxious.

“He still hasn’t woken, Greef,” she said, casting another concerned look towards his room.

Greek just shrugged. “He’ll wake when he needs to. Don’t worry so much about him, Cara. He’s stronger than you think. He’s battle-weary and you must’ve been through that before.”

“Hmmm, sort of,” she agreed. “But it wasn't like this. I don’t just think he’s just battle-weary. He’s not the same.”

“No, he’s not the same, and he probably won’t ever be again,” Karga agreed quietly. “But I think that for now, the best thing to do is to let him sleep off the worst of the exhaustion. Mando didn’t get this far in life without getting himself out of some real tricky situations. He knows he’s safe here and he has let himself switch off, that’s what this is. He needs the rest and time to himself.”

Cara didn’t press the issue. It was too hard to explain why she was worried and why this felt different to anything she had seen before. She was about to say that it wasn’t ‘Mando’ she was concerned about, it was Din, but she was certain that would sound ridiculous to anyone.

Instead, she chatted with Karga about the potential ship he thought Din would like and what sort of supplies he would need. Most of it was about munitions, as there was a reputable trader in the sector at the moment, but even as they spoke, she wasn’t sure if Din would want this stuff any more. Was he going back to being a bounty hunter? He didn’t have to be one. With the reward for bringing in both Gideon and Pershing alive, he was a wealthy man and wouldn’t need to be a hunter again for quite some time - if at all. She wasn’t even sure he knew how wealthy he was, as he had paid scant attention to the reward documentation that he approved for the Rangers. As a Marshal, she wasn’t entitled to any of the reward, and she didn’t want it, but his irritation over the whole thing had been very evident. She knew there was more of a discussion to be had about it, and she did not look forward to that.

Cara tried to stretch their chat out for as long as possible, hoping that Din would get up before Karga left. She brought the older man out to the back of the house and showed him her scrap metal collection that she intended to use to build a speeder bike.

Greef looked at the pile sceptically. “You do realise this was all junk for a reason, right?”

“It’s salvageable,” she protested. “I can totally get the parts I need for a bike out of this.”

“Of course you can.” He scratched at his head and tried to keep the smile off his face. “Do you want me to put in a good word with the munitions trader for some blasters for this completely safe and not at all lethal speeder you’re building?”

“Oh, haha,” she said sarcastically.

He joked around with her and good-naturedly poked through the scrap pile while continuing to chat about supplies and munitions for Mando. Eventually, Cara figured that the best thing to do was to halt all plans and order nothing. If Greef could source information, and put together a good list of items, then that would be enough for now.

“Are you sure, Cara?” asked Greef. “This munitions trader won’t be in this sector for too much longer. It’s a good deal. Mando without an Amban just doesn’t seem right. He could have two for the price of-”

“I know you mean well,” she interrupted kindly. “But I don’t think we should make any plans for him. He can contact the trader tomorrow or the day after. It doesn’t have to be right now. Just let him…” she shrugged, unable to find the words.

“Find his Way again?”

“Yeah. That. And get over losing the kid. He has enough to figure out right now, especially with that Darksaber and everything it entails.”

Karga nodded thoughtfully. “So, if I understood correctly what you were telling me yesterday, our Mando is the king the Mandalorians?”

“I really don’t know,” she replied. “I mean, I think so. The other Mandalorians made a big deal out of it, so I think it’s true, but he hasn’t said a word.”

“King Mando, eh?” Karga gave a brief incredulous chuckle. “Whoever would've guessed? We’re in the presence of royalty.”

She couldn’t see the funny side of it. “He knew nothing about it and didn't want it. It’s not who he is. Don’t joke, Boss,” she said gently and hoped that Karga wouldn’t tease Din about this.

“You’re a good friend, Cara Dune,” said Karga, smiling at her affectionately, as he gathered up his various datapads. “Did you find out what was up with his back?”

“No. Not yet. He didn’t mention it, and I didn’t want to push the issue,” she replied. She wasn’t going to tell Greef that Din had been freaked out enough last night. His emotions had been raw, and his evident discomfort over taking off his helmet was something that would remain only between them. She knew that if she lost Din’s trust about his physical and emotional condition, it would never be regained. He was an intensely private man, and she fully intended to guard that privacy.

“Good. I wasn’t going to say anything to him either,” said Greef. “I don’t think he’d appreciate that. Well, you let me know if you need anything over the comm and I’ll have it sent over.”

“Thank you, Boss. I mean it,” she replied, giving the older man a soft squeeze on his arm. 

“It’s no trouble. I’ll come back tomorrow evening, and by that time, the Sleeping Snow-Prince in there might be a bit more alert,” said Karga with a smile, referencing a children’s fairytale. “And I haven’t asked until now, but it needs asking; tell me - how are you?”

“Me? I’m fine. Still a bit tired is all,” she dismissed his question breezily.

“You sure?” Greef gave her one of his looks. He wasn’t a magistrate for nothing.

Cara was giving nothing away. “Yup.”

“Okay then. Well, I’m going to say this once, Cara. At some point, you’re going to have to deal with your sorrow and grief. Running away from it, hiding out here on Nevarro, and focusing all your energy on Mando, won’t make it go away. Just be aware of it and give yourself time to heal too.”

“Maybe what I do for myself here, and for him, are things that are helping me, Karga. Did you ever think of that?” she asked, somewhat snappishly. She didn’t like being told not to be concerned for her friend and any mention of whatever personal sorrows she may have. That was her business, and nobody else's.

“Take it from someone who’s been there. When my wife died, I did everything I wanted to - traipsed across the galaxy and back. But eventually, reality caught up with me, and it wasn’t pretty. You’ve got baggage, and you shouldn’t dismiss it, is all I’m saying. Din Djarin is not the only one around here who’s hurting - remember that.”

“So, you do know his name.” She seized the opportunity to change the subject.

“Of course I do. But he’s never said it directly to me and never once stopped me from saying ‘Mando’. Until he does, I’m not going there. Something tells me that’s not the case between the two of you. None of my business what you two are to each other but believe it or not; I worry about you both. And I don’t want to see either of you hurt. There, that’s all. I’ve said my piece.”

“You’re a good friend too, Greef Karga,” she said warmly. “And again, thank you for all you’ve done. Really. As for Mando and me, I won’t hurt him, and he won’t hurt me.”

“Good. Okay - I’ll gather some more info for him and like I said, drop by tomorrow. You stay off duty for at least a week, Cara. I sent you both enough supplies for a week, and I don’t want to see you anywhere near the markets. Take this time to wind down and rest.” He agreed with her that Mando wouldn’t hurt her. Not intentionally. But relationships and being careful about someone else's feelings didn’t exactly fit into Mando’s repertoire to date. Sure, he had also shown he could be protective and selfless when it came to the kid, but Karga doubted that Mando had much of a clue about a woman like Cara Dune. She was also a warrior, a tough, battle-hardened shock trooper. Still, she had suffered some severe emotional trauma, and Greef was confident that she’d never given herself the time to recover from it properly.

Cara couldn’t resist being cheeky. “Can Nevarro survive without its best Marshal for another week?”

“It’ll have to,” he replied, looking at her fondly. “Rest, recover and make a start on that pathetic speeder bike.” He laughed at her dismayed face but said their good-humoured goodbyes and Cara, taking his advice, went back to tackle her junk pile.

The more she sorted through her collection, the more she realised that Karga was telling the truth. She was just gathering junk. None of this rubbish would be safe for a speeder, and it was fit for nothing apart from smelting. She laughed when she found a rusting set of speeder pedals. What the hell had she’d been thinking when she collected this stuff? Shaking her head in amusement, she gathered up her project for the scrap heap again. Anyway, she’d rather just buy a kick-ass speeder than frustrate herself by building a piece of crap one.

As she pottered about, she wasn’t exactly quiet about it, hoping that the background noise would wake Din, but it was not to be. Not the clatter of scrap metal, dinner preparation, and noisy clean up of the kitchen afterwards prompted so much as an annoyed ‘shut up!’ from her spare room.

By hour 24, she couldn’t take it anymore. There was no way she would be able to sleep without checking him properly. She slid open the bedroom door and listened. The same deep, slow breathing was evident, and she could just make out his arm on top of the covers. A pillow had ended up on the floor but otherwise, not a blip.

“Din?” she whispered, not entirely sure she should wake him from such a deep sleep. Even without all his weaponry, he would still be dangerous if he was approached unawares. “Din? Hey, wake up!” She chanced a firm shake of his arm and stood well back out of his reach.

There was a low rumble. “M awake.”

“Are you okay?”

He scrubbed at his head and yawned. “Cara?”

“Yeah,” she crouched down beside him. It was safe now that he recognised her. “Are you okay?”

He rolled over to face her. “Ow. Yeah. You?” he croaked.

“I’m fine,” she replied, smiling at his sleepy voice. “But you’ve been out of it for a day now.”

“A _day_?” He gave an involuntary groan as pain swept through him.

“Yeah.”

He sighed and wearily scrubbed a hand over his face. “Timesit?”

“Almost midnight.”

Din tried stretching and again, flinched in pain as his back spasmed. “Ow... kriffin’...” Suddenly, a concerned look swept over his face and his hands scrabbled about in the sheets. “Where-” He lifted his blankets and looked for something.

“Here.” She reached for the small silver ball from beside his helmet and dropped it into his hand. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

He took it from her with relief. “How did you know?”

“I checked in on you this morning and I saw you drop it. Poor little Grogu. I hope he’s okay.”

He inhaled deeply and opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but then his other hand landed softly on her head. He didn’t say anything, and she didn’t move. Carefully his hand moved to cup her jaw, and she turned her face into his palm. His thumb stroked over her cheekbone, and she closed her eyes. He twice more took a breath as if to talk.

“What is it?” she asked eventually.

He heaved another deep sigh. “I miss him, Cara,” he said, his voice as husky as she ever heard it. “I’ve been dreaming about him. I never really thought it would be over. I got him back and then handed him over within an hour. We never got time to… I just… I didn’t think he’d go.”

“I know you miss him,” she whispered back. Cautiously, unwilling to break this moment between them, she placed her hand over his one where it cupped her cheek. “And I’m so sorry he’s not here with you.” 

“What am I going to do without him?” came the broken question. “And I know this sounds selfish but what was it all for, if he’s not with me? Why did he have to go on his own - I could’ve stayed with him. I wanted to.” He stopped talking then, afraid of the loneliness that was bubbling up from his soul.

She couldn’t think of anything reassuring to say so instead, she placed her hand over his and hoped that he knew she understood his loss. He did know, and he sincerely appreciated her quiet support. He linked their fingers together and held onto her hand as it was the only thing keeping him grounded right now. It made him feel less alone.

They both knew they had to have a conversation, that the many things that had been left unsaid would have to get an airing but for now, this was enough. 

They stayed like that for a while until he could feel the pull of exhaustion dragging him under again. His eyes closed.

“Can I get you something to eat or drink?” she asked, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Hmmm… no… nothing, thanks... ‘m not hungry but I better get up.” He wanted nothing more than to stay where he was and use as little energy as possible, but he knew he had to move. If he didn’t, he was going to seize up completely. Reluctantly, and because he knew this was going to hurt, he threw back the covers and with a struggle, just about managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed. He dropped his head into his hands as white-hot pain ripped through him. The nausea rapidly returned, and he didn’t know whether his back, shoulder or abdomen hurt the most.

“You’re not okay, are you?”

“Sore,” he muttered. “I’m just sore.” Sore was an understatement. He was so sick of this shit. Why were his injuries not getting better? And why was he so exhausted that he felt as weak as a nerfling?

Getting to her feet, she helped him to stand up.

He groaned loudly as she pulled him to his feet. Then he yawned so widely they both heard his jaw crack and he shivered violently. He tried to stretch and winced in severe discomfort again. “ARGH! Dank farrik! I’ve slept too long,” he said, shivering around another yawn.

“Is 24 hours too long when you’re utterly exhausted? You clearly needed it,” she replied and watched him rub at his lower back. He couldn’t even stand up straight. “Is your back sore?”

“It’s killing me,” he groaned out. “From left shoulder down my arm and from the lower back across to my front. Kriff… my shoulder won’t move… _argh!_ ”

“How long has it been bothering you?”

Din gritted his teeth as he tried to roll his shoulder again. “Since Morak.”

“Morak? That’s almost a month ago. You should be better by now.”

“I know but it keeps locking.” He groaned loudly again and reached for his shoulder. “The pain goes right down my arm.” He heaved a breath in agony. This was the worst it had been since the injury really started to bother him. “One of those pirates who attacked the rhydonium transport smashed that useless imperial shoulder armour and then that Dark Trooper tossed me about like a rag. I think that was the final straw.” 

He hadn’t taken any pain meds for almost two days and everything, everything, hurt. He put his right hand out to brace himself against the wall and to try and make himself stand up straight but he just couldn’t manage it.

“I’ve tried stretching, medication, hot showers, cold floors - nothing works for long and-” he cut himself off with a choked groan. “Sleeping on it has locked me up completely. My left arm...” he gasped out. “It’s agony...” He was trying to hold his arm close to his body protectively, but he pressed too hard on his front and the pain from below his ribs made him heave over with a curse.

Cara was hugely concerned. She could see he was pale, sweating and very obviously, in intense pain.

“I have just the thing. Can you stand on your own?”

He gave a tense nod.

She hurried to the kitchen and snatched up her field med-pack before running back to the bedroom. Urgently, she rummaged through it and retrieved some hypos. “This is a powerful muscle relaxant. Myoplexaril. It’s an oldie but a goodie and very reliable. It’s used on the battlefield all the time and I have painkiller hypos here too. They're all out of date but they should work well enough.”

He was grateful for anything that would relieve the pain. “Do it. Load me up.” He honestly thought he was going to pass out as the pain was intolerable now. He knew this was something serious and it was scaring him. And he did not get scared easily. 

She knew it was serious too. She’d seen him take an explosion from a disintegrating e-web which nearly killed him, and he never said a word about how painful and terrifying that must’ve been. Now, she knew he was moments away from collapse. She hoped she was doing the right thing as she carefully rolled his shirt up, pressed the hypo to his left trapezius muscle, and emptied the whole lot into the wounded muscle mass. Then she took another hypo and gave him a double dose of painkiller, followed up by another hypo with more Myoplexaril straight into his lower back muscle. It was the only thing she could think of doing, and she just hoped he hadn’t some hidden internal injury that she was making worse. While he had certainly needed the rest, it was ironic that resting had allowed his muscles to lock up, resulting in much more intense pain that he had suffered to date.

“Give it a few moments to circulate,” she said as she fixed his shirt for him. “Can I see what’s wrong with your front?”

He gave another brief nod and managed to show her the bruise along his left flank, just below his ribs and above his hip bone.

“ _Fuck!_ ” she exclaimed, shocked at the blue mess. “You’ve had the ever-loving shit kicked out of you. What the hell is going on here?” She very gently probed the area, but he stopped her and grabbed her hand.

“I need to lie down,” he gasped out. “Gonna pass out.”

“Okay, I’ve got you. I've got you,” she said reassuringly, as she wrapped his good arm around her shoulders. “Carefully now.”

She helped him as best she could, but the camp bed was far too low. It was sheer torture to lower him down but they somehow managed it. Hot tears of agony poured from his eyes but he didn’t make a sound. 

“You’ll be okay.” She retrieved a cloth from the med-pack and wiped his face for him. “Just breathe nice and slowly. The pain will fade soon. It’s okay.” 

He desperately hoped he wouldn’t pass out but he also knew, if it was going to happen, there’s no way he could stop it. His ears were ringing and his vision was already fading. Then, to his amazement, the ache in his arm lessened and his locked shoulder suddenly loosened out.

“I think it’s starting to work,” he whispered as the dizzy feeling left him. 

“Good. You just breathe and let the meds do the work. Let yourself relax. That’s it.” She’d seen this happen with injured comrades in battle before. Getting them to calm down was essential as it slowed the heart rate and took away the immediate feeling of panic and powerlessness. The meds worked best if the body wasn’t primed to defend and attack.

He nodded and listened to her reassuring voice. Bit by bit, he could feel the locked muscles loosening out, and as the intense pain dropped into tolerable pain, the nausea faded with it. She stayed beside him for a good 10 minutes, just stroking her fingers through his hair and reassuring him. It was relaxing, and with every minute that went by, he felt better.

“Can you sit up?” she asked, seeing the colour return to his face.

“I think so,” he said tentatively and allowed her to help him into a sitting position.

“All good?” She looked up at him with a hopeful look.

“Yes,” he nodded, hugely relieved that he’d managed this with minimal discomfort.

Cara stood. “Great. Now, let’s see if you can stand. If you can’t, no problem, we’ll just wait a little while. Let's take this slow.”

She again put his stronger right arm around her shoulders and helped him stand. He was able to do most of it himself, and that was hugely reassuring. Once he was upright, he tried a stretch and was so relieved to find both shoulders, arms, and his back could move.

“It worked. Thank you…” he heaved a massive sigh of relief. “Finally, _something_ has worked.”

“It should keep working for about four to six hours. In a few more minutes, you’ll improve even more. I’m going to stay here beside you, and keep an arm around your waist, okay? Walk with me to the kitchen,” she encouraged. “I’ve got you - you won’t fall - and moving will help.”

Din was hesitant at first because he was sure the stabbing dart of agony would shoot through him again if he moved. But she’d been right about how well the meds would work, and he trusted her so, carefully, he took a step with her. Followed by another and they kept going until he reached the kitchen wall. Now, there was only a slight ache everywhere, which was nothing.

“It really has worked,” he breathed, hardly daring to believe it.

“Try a few steps on your own,” she said as she withdrew her arm while still watching him intensely for any sign of distress.

He walked to the front door and back, stretching his arms out a few times while he did so. “Finally… finally, it’s going,” he said, relief flooding through him. He blew out a hugely relieved breath and gave another testing stretch. No arm pain, no locked muscles, no nausea… it was like a miracle.

“And I have at least three more hypos. It’ll keep your pain under control until you see a medic. You need proper treatment for whatever you’ve got going on. It’s not normal, Din.”

“I know,” he replied. “This was bad - something is going on, and it’s not the result of a regular shit-kicking.”

“And you’ve had plenty of experience in getting those,” she said, smiling at him.

He met her smile with one of is own and then, he reached out for her and carefully pulled her into a hug. Then, making a decision, he leaned his forehead against hers. “Vor entye, ori'vod*.”

“K’uur! Ba'gedet'ye, vod*,” she whispered, so relieved to see him out of pain.

He smiled again. She would remember the word for 'hush!'. “Still cheeky, no matter what the language, huh?”

She just linked her arms around him. “Will you be able to sleep until morning?”

“Hmmm,” he rumbled, just enjoying being here with her and being pain-free for the first time in weeks. “Could sleep standing up.”

“I bet,” she said quietly and stepped back from him. “I suppose during all this time that you’ve been aching and hurt, you didn’t let Grogu see how bad things were?”

He shook his head. “You know what would happen if I did. I couldn’t let him do it - he’d been through enough. I couldn’t stand seeing him collapse with exhaustion because of me. It’s not... it wasn’t right.”

“Not right,” she repeated, arching an eyebrow at him. “That’s true, but you’ve been doing just that. Exhausting yourself beyond endurance. No wonder you’re in bits.” She wasn’t giving him a hard time, she was just pointing out what he had overlooked. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?

“I should probably drink something.” Usually, he would just not bother, but he would have to start looking out for himself if he was going to get himself back to normal. He knew about dehydration and how it could make you feel a lot worse than you were. “No, it’s okay,” he interrupted as she moved away to get it for him. “I’ll get it myself. I should move around a bit.”

“Good idea,” she said as she retrieved a blanket from behind an armchair. “Here, wrap this blanket around your shoulders and don’t get cold. I’ll sit and read for a bit while you do whatever you need to.”

He did as she suggested and he also went to get the thick socks he had been wearing earlier as his feet were cold. The simple act of putting on socks made him smile as he could do it without pain. He drank two large glasses of water while walking slowly around the house and felt a lot better for doing so. He washed out the glass and put it away, sighing with relief as he could do simple things like reaching up to open a cupboard without that ache down his arm bothering him, his lower back protesting, or his abdomen cramping up.

“That medication is amazing,” he said to her as he rejoined her in the living area. “The pain is gone entirely now.”

When she looked at him, she was glad to see that he looked so much better. He was even standing straighter and looked far more like himself. “Great stuff,” she said, smiling at him. “Do you need anything else?”

“No. I’m good. Will you wake me early in the morning? I can’t spend another day in bed or who knows what meds I’ll have to take so I can move.”

“No problem, I’ll wake you. Promise me that you’ll go and see the medic? Those meds-”

“I promise,” he interrupted. “No question. Whatever damage I’ve done has to be put right tomorrow. I can’t go on like this.”

“Good,” she gave him a sunny smile. “Right, let’s get you fixed up for some pain-free rest.” She followed him back to his room, where she remade his bed for him and got him some more blankets.

“Are you going to tuck me in too?” he asked, his eyes twinkling at her as he climbed beneath the cosy pile.

"Yes. So, shut up,” came the matter-of-fact answer. She cracked a heating gel pack from the med-kid and put it in beside his feet, and then, she quite literally tucked him up and made sure he was comfortable. “Better?”

“Much better,” he replied and catching her hand in his, he placed a grateful kiss on her knuckles. “Thank you.”

Cara just leaned down, dropped a fond kiss on his forehead, and left him to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Vor entye, ori vod - Thank you, special friend.  
> * K’uur, ba'gedet'ye, vod - Hush, you’re welcome, friend.
> 
> Dawww. All tucked up in bed. I wonder just how long will those miracle drugs keep working? ;-) Dedicated to anyone who's ever had a serious back injury and knows, only too well, how everything is too low to reach without agony. Also, building a bike (not to mention a speeder bike) out of junk is never a good idea. Trust me on that one.


	3. Medical Matters

Cara knocked loudly on his bedroom door and opened it. “Morning! You awake?”

He flapped a hand at her.

“How’s the pain?”

“Hmmm ‘sfine. Good.”

“Great. Okay - can you get up? I got you an early appointment with the medic.” She gave the camp bed a small kick to jostle him.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled and buried himself deeper under the cosy blankets. He was still pain-free and was enjoying the relaxation and warmth of his bed. It had been far too long since he was this comfortable.

Cara opened the shutters and the window to let in some fresh morning air.

“Get up, Din. Come on,” she said as she looked out the window to see a few lava-kats scurrying from the back porch. Cheeky devils. They’d probably been there all night.

There wasn’t a sound from the man beside her. She looked over at him and thought he looked adorable, all snuggled up like that, so she felt bad for what she was about to do. She grasped the end of the sheet and blankets and whipped them away. “GET UP!”

Din curled up tighter as the cooler morning air swept over him. _“Cara!”_

“I’d say you have about half an hour before those drugs wear off, so you need to see the medic. You can go back to bed later but you need to move. Now.”

He heaved a sigh and reluctantly uncurled himself. “Okay, okay,” he grumped. He swung himself to the side of the bed and yawned.

“It’s good you got a few hours of rest. You don’t look quite as pale as you did,” she said and tossed the blankets at him. “Get yourself ready and dressed. We’re leaving in 10 minutes.” She left him alone in the room.

She went to the kitchen and started gathering nice foods for breakfast when they got back. She figured they wouldn’t be too long at the clinic and that he’d get whatever meds he needed to sort himself out, properly this time. She heard him move to the fresher and his shuffling footsteps as he went back to his room. He was taking his time and her allotted 10 minutes were already up. 

“Din? Will you hurry up!?” she called. “Wher-” she stopped talking when he appeared in front of her, in his grubby vest top and cargo pants. “What the hell? Get dressed!”

He gave a small shrug of apologies. “I have no clothes. You’re right about that flight suit - it’s horrendous. Throw it out. Even these clothes stink. So, I can’t put the armour back on, and I can’t go through the town wearing your old clothes.”

“Kriff, you’re right,” she agreed, taking pity on him. “Sorry - I forgot about the clothes situation.” She thought for a moment. “Okay, this is what we’re going to do. I’ll see if the medic can come here, and I’m calling Karga to organise some clothes for you.” She picked up her commlink to make the necessary calls and she had everything arranged swiftly.

“Not sure I should let Karga loose on my wardrobe,” he said glumly. “Long tunics are not my thing.”

“It’ll be fine,” she said. “He’ll get you regular clothes in the market, and he knows you’re not going to wear his tunics.” She put her hand up to her nose. “Take off those smelly clothes. My old clothes will be fine for now.”

“How did you put up with me? I quite literally smell like shit.” He looked down ashamedly at himself.

She held her thumb and forefinger frictionally apart, “Well, I was this close to stripping you, and not in the fun way,” she said, giving him a cheeky smile.

“I knew you’d be into that,” he replied deadpan. “My helmet has one hell of a filter if nothing else.” He caught another whiff from himself and turned his head away in disgust. “Shab! Okay - I have to get these off me.” He turned to go back to his room but winced as he turned. Out of nowhere, the shooting pain around his flank and lower back returned. He groaned as he grasped the hem of his top. “Could you…” His movements were rapidly stiffening up, and she had to help him to take his shirt off as he couldn’t raise his arms enough to pull his top over his head.

“Medic can’t get here quick enough, huh?” she asked as she walked with him back to his room to help him get dressed.

The simple act of changing clothes had him sweating and pale, and he felt utterly dejected. He thought that maybe he’d improve a bit after a good night’s sleep and effective medication, but it was not to be.

“Maybe it’s better this way,” said Cara, although she didn’t like seeing him in pain again. “Dr Pachix can see what’s really going on with you without the Myoplexaril and painkillers masking anything.” She was looking with concern at the bruising on his flank again. “Oh Din, I don’t like the look of that, and I think it’s getting worse. What happened?”

“That Dark Trooper got a kick in. I let my guard down. It should never have been able to reach me.” He hissed in pain and leaned against the wall for support. “You’re right - it’s worse.” 

She shook her head in sympathy for all he’d been through. “It must’ve been a hell of a kick. But you still managed to defeat it.”

“Just about,” he gritted out. “Levered its head off with the spear.” The pain was ramping up in intensity. He clenched his jaw tightly and tried to breathe through a bad spasm.

Precisely at that moment, they heard a speeder pull up outside and the front door commlink buzzed. “Pachix is right on time.” Cara paused at the bedroom door. “Helmet on or off?”

Din’s hand flew to his face. “On.”

“That’s okay,” she said calmly. “Take your time. I’ll go and let her in.”

He retrieved his helmet and gave himself a few minutes to brace himself for whatever he’d have to go through with the medic, not to mention the embarrassment of having to face anyone while he was dressed in clothes that were too small for him. He then joined them in the living room, and he was grateful that he had the helmet to hide the burn of shame on his face. A Mandalorian warrior dressed like an idiot and with wounds he should have been able to defend. How pathetic.

“And here’s my patient,” Dr Pachix had that kind and welcoming air about her that most Mirialans had. “Nice to meet you, Mando; I’ve wanted to for some time.” She did not comment on his bizarre clothing situation and instead held out her hand in greeting, which he shook briefly with a reserved ‘hello’.

Cara already saw that he had reverted to type; monosyllabic and distant. He didn’t offer his name and made no small talk. She knew by him that if she could see his face, he would look dreadful.

“Right, will we get started? Marshal, have you another room where I can examine him properly?”

“Sure,” said Cara. “Take my room. There’s more space for you to move around in there.”

Din nodded his thanks to her and led the way, already walking a lot slower and his shoulders had that rigid bearing again. The medic gathered up her bags and followed him. Cara sat in the living room to wait for them as she expected the consult to take about half an hour. However, as time went on, she got more concerned. She made herself some caf, then had her breakfast, but there was still no sign. After nearly two hours, she heard her bedroom door slide open, and she left the kitchen to see what the verdict was.

Dr Pachix stood alone in her living room.

Cara looked around. “Where-”

“He told me that I was to fill you in. He’s sleeping comfortably now,” explained Pachix. “Come in - I want to keep an eye on him for a few minutes.”

Cara followed her back into the bedroom, where she watched as Pachix checked over her patient. Din was lying on his right side, no helmet and no shirt, and she could clearly see the awful bruising on his shoulder, around his throat, then down his flank and back.

“He has multiple injuries, and he’s lucky you called me. He ruptured a disc in his neck, has torn shoulder ligaments and unfortunately, damaged his spleen resulting in some internal bleeding,” explained the kindly medic as she ran a monitor over Din. 

“Oh, I _knew_ it,” said Cara sadly. “I knew he’d done something serious.”

“The internal bleeding is why the bruising looked so bad on his torso. I had to knock him out to fix that first, and then I dosed him up again so I could sort out his shoulder and neck. The disc was compressing the radial nerve going down his left arm.”

“Is that why he couldn’t bend it properly?”

“Exactly why. It wasn’t just pain that was limiting his movement; the nerve couldn’t operate the way it is supposed to.” She checked the readout on her monitor again. “Yeah, he’s doing well. Shortly, he’ll start to come round. I sedated him but not too deeply, so when he does wake, he’s going to be quite happy for a while. He’ll be all smiles but in no pain, which is the most important thing. Neuropathic pain of the type he was experiencing in his arm is excruciating.”

Cara remembered all too clearly the agony that he suffered from his arm the previous evening. “He said as much last night. How come it took so long to cause such serious pain?”

“Disc injuries do that. On the first day, you might not even notice it. But as more of the disc bulges and the inflammation ramps up, the pain gets worse. Eventually, it can become intolerable, and nothing except the strongest medication will help in the short term. Apart from his torso, I’ve checked all his other bruises, and there’s nothing sinister. I have to get him a customised shoulder brace, and my nurse will bring it over later, and he will show Mando how to wear it properly. His spleen will be fine if he takes care. It’s a delicate organ, and when it’s newly healed, it can rupture again very easily. If he just gives it a few hours with no pressure on his left side, then the bacta reinforced mesh I grafted will have a chance to do a good preliminary bond.”

“What about his head and neck?” asked Cara anxiously, thinking that if Din had Grougu with him or had let the kid help him, he wouldn’t be in this mess. “Should he keep his head still or not?”

“No, there’s no need. I retracted the disc off the nerve, and the bacta cement is working as we speak. He’s just going to have to be careful with himself for a least a month.” Pachix checked again that her patient was comfortable, and then she packed up her kit and sealed off the medical waste bag. “For the rest of today, he should get up and walk around for short periods, but he must avoid sitting for too long and should lie down here - not on the couch or his camp bed. This is the right height for him to get in and out of bed, and the mattress is supportive. Watch him when he walks because if he falls, that spleen will rupture. He will be fine once the sedation has worn off, but people often underestimate their abilities when they have no pain.”

“I had no idea he was so severely injured,” said Cara sorrowfully. “Or I would’ve brought him to you yesterday. Instead, he spent the day asleep. I’m not kidding - he was out of it for 24 hours.”

“I know. He filled me in on what’s happened over the past month or so. I doubt he knew himself how serious the injuries were. He was bleeding slowly, but when combined with the physical damage to the spleen itself, it’s no wonder he slept the way he did. Again, it’s a slow injury that gets worse over time. Spleen injuries are notoriously tricky to diagnose or recognise, with symptoms we often attribute to other issues. Things like extreme fatigue, dizziness, nausea, shoulder pain, chills etc.,” she explained.

“He had all those things.” Cara was still upset, thinking about how she was mean to him earlier and whipped his blankets away. “Poor guy.”

“He just needs to rest and take it easy for a while. And pay attention to what his body needs,” said Pachix gently. “He told me that he hasn’t eaten for over a day, but he has to eat and drink far more than he has done. He’s a bit dehydrated now, but he said he’d drink properly over the next few days. If he doesn’t, I’ve threatened him with a stay in the clinic and will put tubes where he won’t like ‘em. He should eat as much as he can today - whatever he wants. It’ll help to kickstart his system again. He might need you to fetch and carry for him until tomorrow if that’s okay?”

“Of course,” replied Cara, wincing again when she saw the livid bruising again. “Does he need anything else apart from the brace?”

“No, his shoulder looks worse than it is because of the bleeding caused by the torn ligaments. I’ve fixed them, but they’re also very fragile right now, so he needs the brace to support his arm and to alleviate any pressure on the disc in his neck. He needs to wear it for about five days, and then he should be fine. I’m also sending you some anti-inflam hypos if he’s in any discomfort. When he gets the brace, can you check that the strap doesn’t rest on this bit of his neck? She pointed to the location where she operated. “And make sure he keeps it adjusted high enough to avoid the whole spleen area. As I said, my nurse will show you both how to fit the brace, but it would be good just to keep an eye on it in case the straps loosen. I told him that he is to wear loose shirts or jerseys for the next week or two, no armour, preferably no helmet unless strictly necessary and not for long, and no carrying. No vigorous exercise either just walks.”

“No problem.” Cara pulled the sheet and blanket over him to keep him warm. “Oh, I wanted to ask you - I gave him painkillers and Myoplexaril last night. Did that make his situation any worse? They’re slightly out-of-date, but I have the hypos-”

“Cara,” said Pachix reassuringly, “You did everything right. The Myoplexaril helped the inflammation, and the painkillers alleviated the pain, which was excruciating. It stopped him from passing out and injuring himself even more. You did the best anyone could have done. One last thing - I note he has suffered a severe head injury in the relatively recent past. Do you know when that happened?”

Yeah,” she nodded. “It happened here on Nevarro. During the big shoot-out with Gideon and his henchmen.”

Pachix nodded thoughtfully. “So, about a year ago. I thought so. Did he get it assessed?”

Cara shrugged. “I don’t know, but I would suspect not. He had a large dose of bacta spray.”

Pachix nodded. “Yeah, the main trauma site has all the appearances of it. He had significant depressed skull fractures, and I’m pretty sure he damaged part of his spinal cord, possibly even brain. Did he ever say anything about it?”

“No. He never mentioned it again. Why?” If Cara was concerned before, she was anxious now.

“I’m not a human neurology specialist, but the healing pattern is strange.”

“I’ve seen him a few times over the past year, and he was okay. He was himself and wasn’t acting weird or anything, and he didn’t complain of pain. He had Grogu w-” Cara stopped suddenly.

“What?”

Cara’s large eyes widened. “He had Grogu with him. His son. He was, he is, a special little guy. He can heal people by touch. I wonder if he was helping?”

“He can heal people?” Pachix repeated incredulously.

Cara nodded. “Did you ever hear of the Jedi?”

“I’m a medic in the New Republic,” said Pachix. “Of course I’ve heard of the Jedi. Are you telling me that Mando’s son, that cute little green kid that the children in town still talk about, is a Jedi with healing powers?”

“Yes.”

Pachix was stunned. “And could this little Jedi heal injuries like that for a fully grown human male? The skull fractures, brain and spinal cord injuries he had should’ve killed him. In fact, I’ve only ever seen similar injuries in dead bodies. Bacta spray can’t fix that. Nothing can fix that.”

“Maybe Grogu did, or at least, maybe he helped in the recovery,” said Cara, a whole lot of things suddenly becoming clearer. “What if Grogu has been helping Mando this whole time and now that they’re separated-”

“Mando is feeling the effects of not just these recent injuries but past injuries too?” finished Pachix, seeing where Cara was going with this.

Cara’s gaze switched to the sleeping man. “Should he be in the hospital?”

“I don’t know,” said Pachix, with a concerned tone. “He is comfortable there, and all his stats are fine. I think we should wait and see. I’m going to call on him every day over the next week or so and check on him. What do you think?”

“I don’t know what to think.” Cara was genuinely worried. “I don’t think Grogu would’ve left him if he thought Mando still needed his help, but maybe he got him to a point where he knew his father would be okay. I don’t know. What should I look for? How will I know if-”

“I’ll know what to look for,” said Pachix kindly. “And I’ll check him every day until we’re all satisfied that he’s okay. But first, he needs to be wherever he’s most comfortable, and I think that’s here. Sending him off to a medical facility-”

“No.” Cara was clear on that one. “You’re right. He needs to be here, and if he needs more treatment than we can source for him, we’ll worry about that then. I’m so grateful that you’ll do this for him and for coming here today.”

Pachix waved her hand. “As I said, Nevarro owes this man a huge debt. In fact, it owes you a huge debt too.”

“We all do,” came Din’s raspy voice.

“Ah, Mando, you’re awake,” said Pachix, kneeling next to him. “Good. Any pain?”

“No,” he said, his voice no more than a whisper. “But I feel weird.”

“A bit floaty?” Pachix put her hand on his arm to reassure him.

“Very.”

“That’s okay. It’s normal,” she said, as she again checked his temperature, blood pressure, pulse and O2 stats with her scanner. “Yep, you’re doing very well, and all your readings are stable. Mashal Dune here is going to make sure you follow all my instructions. Do as she says, okay?”

“I always do,” he muttered, closing his eyes.

“Then I don’t think we’re going to have any problems,” said Pachix fondly. “I’ll see you again tomorrow, okay?”

“Yes tomorrow okay thank you,” came the slurred, sleepy reply.

“Keep an eye on him, Cara, especially for a few hours in case he tries to walk by himself. He’ll wake up properly in the next half hour or so, and like I said, he’ll be quite cheerful for a bit, but he’ll also be sleepy on and off for the rest of the day.”

Cara nodded. “I’ll watch him. Thanks so much for taking care of him, Pachix.”

“No problem. I’ll have the brace and meds sent over to you, and I’ll see you both tomorrow. Lastly, I had to ask him to remove his helmet, but please reassure him again that his identity is safe with me.”

“He’ll appreciate that,” replied Cara. She knew that while Din’s Creed was now secondary to his commitment as a father, showing his face was still something he was figuring out. “And thank you again for taking him out of pain. It was bad.”

Pachix smiled. “No problem - that’s the job. I’m just glad I could help and that he trusted me.” She gathered up all her bags, and with a final firm handshake, Cara showed her out with a reassurance that her bill would be paid by the end of the day. They argued good-naturedly over credits, but eventually, Pachix relented and agreed on a nominal sum for her work today and ongoing care. Just as she was walking away, they both saw Karga approaching with a rucksack.

He greeted the medic, and they chatted briefly before he made his way over to Cara on the porch. “Dare I say it, but you look a little better today,” he said to her by way of greeting. “Even if you do have a sick Mando to watch over right now. How’s the patient?”

“He’s pretty beat up. Internal bleeding, ruptured a disc in his neck, and a whole lot of other aches, pains and old injuries,” she explained. “He’s going to have to take it easy for a while and be careful of himself.”

Greef gave a huff. “Taking it easy and being careful. Something Mando is certain to do.”

“He will this time,” she reassured. “Boss, do you know if he ever went to a medic for that horrific head injury he got when that e-web exploded?”

Karga shook his head. “I don’t know, but I’d say not. Why?”

“Pachix seems to think all is not as it should be. She said she wasn’t ‘a human neurology specialist’ and that the healing pattern was weird.”

“And does she think he needs to see a specialist?” Greef was instantly concerned. Mando had that injury for almost a year. If he hadn’t healed correctly, then any damage at this stage would be permanent.

“She said we’d wait and see, and she’s going to check on him every day. But…” Cara trailed off and bit her lip.

“But what?” asked the older man after a short pause.

“I don’t think Grogu would’ve left him if he needed help. You, of all people, know that if the kid thought he could help you, he would do it, and Din means the world to that little guy. Grogu wouldn’t have left his father alone if he needed help. He wouldn’t.” Cara sounded as if she was convincing herself rather than stating facts.

Greef took pity on her as he could see how upset she had become. “Of course he wouldn’t,” he reassured kindly and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We all know how much little Grogu loves Mando. There’s no doubt about it; those two would do anything for each other. You better believe that he stuck with Mando until those serious injuries were healed, whether Mando realised it or not. What do medics know about that? They see broken bones and damage and think that there’s only one way to get it fixed.”

“So, you’re saying some bacta spray and Grogu magic is the winning combination?” she asked, feeling a whole lot more relieved.

“Bacta spray, Grogu magic, and a lot of love. I’d bet all I have on it.”

Cara turned her face away and blinked furiously. Greef’s words were true and only served as another cruel reminder of what Din had now lost.

“Are you okay?” asked Karga softly.

She gave a stiff nod and a sniff. “It’s not fair, Boss.”

“No. It’s not,” he agreed. “But he will get through it, Cara. It’s just going to take time.”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand, Greef. He broke his Creed for the kid - he took off his helmet in public, and I think he did it more than once. He won’t speak about it, but it’s bothering him. He doesn’t know how to be Mando anymore.”

“But I do understand,” contradicted Karga gently. “Very much so. Did he break his Creed to rescue Grogu? Good. I would expect nothing less from him. I know he probably thinks that he’d be shunned and that nobody can understand what he did, but he’d be utterly wrong about that. Had he left his foundling son, an innocent child, all alone and defenceless in the hands of Imperials, I know there isn’t a Mandalorian Tribe anywhere who would have anything to do with him. He did what all parents are supposed to do; he put his son’s needs ahead of his own. And you don’t have to be a strict observer of a Mandalorian Creed to figure that out. It’s also not the first time I’ve seen Mando break a Code for that kid. Two years ago, he trashed the Guild Code to reclaim the little guy because he couldn’t live with himself for handing Grogu over to the Imps. He not only trashed the Code, he damn near took out every bounty hunter here on Nevarro at the same time. Me included. Let’s not even mention how his whole Tribe pitched in to help him rescue the kid and get out of here alive. So, yes, it hurts. And he’s lonely, but he will come to terms with it because that’s what good people do.”

“I didn’t know all of that.” Cara was somewhat shocked to hear about this rescue. Din had skipped over most of it and just made it sound like he’d taken out a few Imps and scarpered off Nevarro with Grogu. It was only now that she realised there was a lot more to it.

“Yeah,” nodded Karga. “So, I do get it, and I do understand. Mando will do whatever he has to do to protect Grogu. Be that taking off his helmet or smashing up half of this town. I will never underestimate that man again, especially when it comes to his son.”

“I don’t know how to tell him that,” she said quietly. “He won’t talk about it, and I feel… I… Maybe I’m not the right person to help him through th-”

“Well, I’m going to stop you right there, Marshal.” Karga turned her around to face him and, this time, put both hands on her shoulders. “Not only are you the right person, but you’re also the only person. You’ll both figure it out together.”

She gave him a wan smile. “I’ll do my best.”

“Just be kinder to yourself, Cara. You can’t fix everything in a few days, and he’s going to have to do most of the figuring out for himself. I bet he’s never been in this position in his life, and if he’s half the man I think he is, he’ll go about this in his own way. My advice is to let him. You’ve given him everything he needs to get himself well, and the rest is up to him. You do whatever you need to so as you can care for yourself too.” He said this while looking earnestly at her. He knew she had pretty much nobody in the universe who gave a shit about her. He could not imagine what it must be like to be so utterly alone. 

She nodded slowly. “I hear you, Boss. Guess it’ll just take us all some time. Okay.” She sighed and changed the subject. “Did you find some clothes for him?”

“Yes. All of this is for him,” he said and handed over the rucksack. “I wasn’t exactly certain of his size, but I think they’ll do until he can get some more. I got him some indoor shoes too.”

“He’ll appreciate everything, Boss, thanks.” Cara hefted the rucksack up over her shoulder.

“Where is he anyway?”

“Asleep. Again,” she said ruefully. “Pachix loaded him up with the good stuff.”

“Whoo,” said Karga with a smile, “He’s going to be one happy boy. You have an entertaining hour or so ahead of you.”

Cara grinned. “Apparently.”

“Do you want me to stay and help?” he offered kindly.

“Nah - it’s okay, we can manage. But thank you.” She really did appreciate the offer, but she had not told Karga the full story about Din not wearing his helmet in the house either. If Karga was there, well, she wasn’t going to make that decision for Din to show his face to another person while he was still out of it on drugs. “So, what’s going on around the town today?”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Marshal, as you’re on leave, remember? And our next conversation is going to be about getting you some Deputies.”

“I don’t need Deputies! I can-”

“You do, and so does Nevarro,” interrupted Karga, taking no nonsense. “Enjoy your break, Cara. And when he’s able, I’ll drop in to see him.”

She gave him a rueful grin, “Thanks, Boss. For the clothes and all the supplies you sent. I better get back to check he’s okay.”

“You do that,” he said kindly and gave her a wave as he headed off. “Everything will be okay, Cara. You’ll see.”

They said their goodbyes, and Cara carried the rucksack through to the bedroom. She was relieved to see that he hadn’t moved an inch. “You awake?” she asked softly, not wanting to disturb him.

“Yes,” came the sleepy, hoarse reply.

She kneeled beside him. “How are you feeling now?”

“Good,” he said, his voice a bit stronger after he cleared his throat. “Floaty good.”

She smiled at him. “Yeah. You’re going to feel that way for a bit. Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Hungry. ‘M gonna get up and-”

“No, you stay right here, and I’ll get you some breakfast. What would you like?”

“I like staying here,” he said, his eyes crinkling with humour.

“It’s just for today,” she replied, her own eyes twinkling at him. “And you have to pay it back - I have a leak in the porch roof, and someone needs to sort out my rainwater attenuation tank. Gimme the order, Mando. Caf to start?”

“Yeah!” his eyes brightened. “I like caf. And I like berries and five-blossom bread. And jam. And jogan juice. I like them all.” She knew the drugs caused his strange way of talking, but she found it endearing. He sounded like a little boy giving a list of his favourite things.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said, giving his hand a comforting squeeze. “Stay there and don’t move, okay?” 

“‘Kay.” Din closed his eyes. He was so comfortable here. It had to be the most comfortable bed he’d slept in… well, he couldn’t remember. The sheets were clean and soft, as was the pillow, and the mattress was exactly right. He liked the fresh, citrus smell of whatever the sheets had been washed in. Smelled a bit like Cara too. He was out of pain and resting in a safe, warm place. It made him sigh happily. He knew it was the sedation that was making him feel so relaxed, but it was a very pleasant, floaty feeling, and he didn’t fight it. He allowed himself to drift and enjoy the half-asleep, half-awake place he was in. It was the smell of caf that eventually brought him around.

He blinked at the mug on the bedside locker and watched the steam twist in the sunlight. He could see the shadows it cast on the wall. They were pretty, and he wafted a hand through the steam, smiling as it curled around his fingers and disintegrated in tendrils of vapour. So funny. The shadows looked like Jawas disintegrating.

“Stupid Jawas,” he explained when he spotted Cara looking at him. “I banged my head a lot when we drove in their crawling fortress thing. They laughed ‘n’ I didn’t like that. But I suppose I had disintegrated lots of ‘em.” That made him give a huff of laughter.

“Man, you are so high right now.” Cara couldn’t help smiling as the normally reserved man was grinning at her like an idiot.

Din snorted a laugh while still fascinated with the steam patterns. He blew at it and chuckled when the steam scattered. “Bye Jawas!”

“Are you going to drink that or play with it?” 

“Am gonna drink it all up,” he replied and reached for the mug.

“Hey, hey, wait,” she said and moved to help him sit up carefully at the side of the bed.

He sat beside her with a dopey smile on his face and enjoyed sipping the caf. Not only had Greef sent them juice, fresh fruit, and berries, he’d also included five-blossom bread and many other good things. Cara had cut generous slices and spread grove-grass jam on them. Din happily munched his way through the bread as if he had never tasted anything as delicious in his life.

“Here, put your shirt on and don’t get cold,” she said, handing him the garment before he could eat any more. Kriff, he was handsome, with broad shoulders that tapered down to a very nice waist. Bronzed skin, smooth chested, lean but not too lean and - she shook her head and kept her eyes front and centre. Ogling her friend while he was out of it didn’t seem right.

He looked at the shirt she was holding. “I don’t like it. It’s too small.”

“Well, let’s have a look at the clothes Karga got for you,” she said patiently as she reached for the rucksack, “What about this?” She held up a white, soft jersey shirt with long sleeves and a few buttons at the neck. 

He said nothing and just put his arms up over his head, smiling broadly as he waited for the new shirt.

Cara chuckled to herself as she manhandled him into it. There wasn’t so much as a flinch of pain from him which was great to see. She was able to get him into the shirt remarkably easily as he was so compliant. “There. That’s much better.”

“Uh-huh,” he said agreeably as he finished his glass of juice and reached for the bowl of purple chee-chee berries. “Can I’ve some more caf ‘n’ more bread, please?” 

“Sure,” she replied, thoroughly enjoying seeing him with the munchies. Now would be a good time to replace the caf with rehydration fluids. She doubted he’d notice the difference. “You okay to sit there while I get it?”

“‘Course,” he said, grinning at her as he scoffed down some more berries. “You’re a very nice person, Cara. I like you. I like your house and your bread ‘n’ jam, and I like these berries.” He stared at his purple, berry-stained fingers and laughed as he wiggled them. 

“Oh Din,” she said, laughing softly as she tipped his head up. “What am I going to do with you?”

He smiled at her. A large, warm, sunny smile that made him look so different, with his dimples and big brown eyes. She noted his pupils were tiny; he was the epitome of stoned, and he was so happy about it.

“D’you know what else I like?” he said, still smiling brightly up at her.

“No - what?”

He looked at her adoringly. “Gyrospanners!” He laughed and then yawned.

Cara snorted with laughter. “Gyrospanners. Okay - I think you should lie down. C’mon, big guy. You lie here like this, and I’ll get you more food. You’ll like that.”

“Yeah. I like this bed.” His eyes were already closing as she helped him lie on his right side.

She tucked some pillows in close to his back so he couldn’t roll over and drew the sheet up over him. She then placed the blanket over his legs. “You okay there?”

A light snore was her answer.

\-------

An hour later, she looked into the room and saw that he was awake. “Nice nap?”

He was smiling again. “Yes.”

“Are you still hungry?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to get up for a little while?”

“Yes.”

It was so weird to see him like this. The quiet and reserved Mando was instead a smiling, sunny faced man who appeared not to have a care in the galaxy. She knew it was the medication, but it was nice to see him happy and out of pain.

“Come on then.” She offered him her hand and helped him to stand, observing him for any sign of instability. “Any dizziness? Are you okay to stand up?”

“Yes.”

She chuckled and walked with him into the kitchen, where he spotted the pastries and jam immediately.

He beamed at her and reached for one, but he paused before taking a bite. “Are these for me?”

She nodded. “Eat up. You can have whatever you want today. Doc's orders.”

“Yum!” he replied and tucked in with relish.

Cara gave him more berries and a large glass of oral rehydration fluid. She wasn’t fond of the taste herself, finding the fizzy mix both too sweet and too salty at the same time. It would be interesting to see what a stoned Din would make of it.

He picked up the glass, looked sceptically at the green colour, and gave a shrug. He knocked back the whole thing in a few gulps and burped richly. “‘Scuse me! I liked that.”

“So it would seem,” she replied, trying not to laugh at him too much. Without asking, she filled up another glass and handed it over. Four large glasses later, and with all the bread, pastries and berries gone, not to mention the entire pot of jam, Din had finally had enough.

“’Mnot hungry anymore,” he said, pushing the empty bowls away from him. He stepped back from the kitchen counter with a yawn. “Hey, Cara? Two Mon Calamari are in a tank. One looks at the other and says, ‘You man the guns while I drive’.”

She looked at him blankly, and for some reason, he found her non-reaction hilarious. He laughed and slapped his knee. “It’s not a water tank, see? It’s a tank tank,” he explained between snorts of laughter. “A tank tank.” That set him off again. He found it so funny that he had to wipe tears of laughter from his eyes.

Cara couldn’t help but laugh along with him over his dumb joke. He was a funny sight as he threw his head back and laughed loudly at whatever mental vision he had of Mon Calamari in a tank.

While he was still laughing to himself, she led him back to bed so he could sleep off his meal and giggle-fit. “I’m going to close the shutters. It’ll make it a bit darker so you can rest. Can you remember to call me if you need to get out of bed?”

“Yes,” he replied, still snickering quietly to himself.

She again piled some pillows behind his back, checked he was comfortable and left him to rest. She didn’t want to go too far because she wasn’t convinced he had listened to her, and she was apprehensive that he’d try to get out of bed on his own. He seemed steady enough on his feet, but she didn’t want to risk it. So, she picked up her datapad and, taking a chair from the kitchen, carried it through to her bedroom so she could keep an eye on him. It was only until the drugs wore off, which should be very soon. It didn’t take long for his quiet laughter to stop and for sleep to reclaim him. She wasn’t surprised considering the amount he’d just eaten. If the drugs weren’t going to knock him out, the food coma certainly would.

He slept for about half an hour but then woke with a sudden jump. “Jawas!”

“There are no Jawas, Din,” she replied, glad that she was sitting where he could see her.

He blinked owlishly at her. “What? Cara? What… where?” He looked around him and swallowed as he orientated himself. “Oh.” He swallowed again and made a face at the unpleasant taste in his mouth. “What the… Urgh. Was I eating salt? Or sugar? Or both?”

“Pretty much,” she replied, thinking about all the oral rehydration fluid he’d taken, not to mention the jam. “Do you need to brush your teeth?”

“Yes. And I need the fresher.”

“No problem - slowly does it. Up you get,” she carefully helped him to stand and waited with him for a moment until he was steady. “Do you want to use this fresher here?” She pointed to the small fresher just off her room.

“No, it’s okay. I should walk to the main one,” he replied and scrubbed at his head. “I feel very strange.”

“Are you dizzy?”

“No. I feel like I’m in slow motion.”

“I think the happy drugs are wearing off,” she replied as he wasn’t laughing at everything any more.

“Good. My face is sore from smiling.” He rubbed ruefully at his cheeks. “Okay. Fresher. Let’s go.”

She walked with him from the room and down the short hallway. He managed it all steadily and was secure on his feet.

“Can you manage the rest?” she asked hopefully.

He arched a wry eyebrow at her. “Definitely.”

“Well, shout if you need me.” She gave him a cheeky wink and headed back to the living room, where she could see the fresher door from her armchair.

While he was in the fresher, her front door commlink buzzed, and she went to answer it. It was the nurse from the clinic - a small, efficient man called Sariv from Hosnian Prime. Cara had always liked him and knew his family. His kids attended the local school, and his eldest boy had given cookies or something to Grogu. While calling out to Din to come to the living room when he was ready, she let him in.

In no time at all, Sariv had Din all strapped up. “See? It’s quite simple, and if you release this strap here,” he demonstrated by peeling back a large strap that went around Din’s chest, “the whole thing can come off over your head. As Dr Pachix said, keep it adjusted high enough like this, and make sure this part stays off your neck.” He checked again that the brace was in the right position. “Here’s a whole pack of painkiller and anti-inflam hypos, and there’s more than enough here for a few weeks. If you’re in any discomfort, you must use them. Your body can’t heal if it’s fighting inflammation, so help it, and do not put up with pain. If you do what you’re supposed to, your primary injuries will have a good chance to heal by the end of the week, and in a month or so, you’ll be as good as new. Take the time - okay?” He gave Din an earnest look.

“Okay,” he replied. “I’ll follow the orders, no problem.”

“That’s what we want to hear. Rest, eat well, keep your hydration up, and do moderate exercise each day. Walking is best for you. And wear that brace if your arm feels heavy or tired.”

“Again, no problem,” replied Din, grateful for all the assistance he had received.

“Then I don’t think you’ll have any further problems, Mando,” said Sariv cheerfully. “Good to meet you, and I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

They shook hands, and Cara saw him off with yet more thanks and appreciation. Sometimes, she found it hard to believe that she was a part of this community and that the people here showed a real appreciation for their efforts in ridding the place of Imps and sleemos.

When she returned, she saw Din had taken his helmet off and was reading a datapad which had some munitions details sent through from Greef. She scooted him off the couch.

“You’re supposed to lie down for the rest of today. No sitting if you can help it. Go on - take that datapad and read it in bed.”

“Makes for a hell of a bedtime story,” he replied, smiling at her. “Did you see this new Amban?”

“Let me guess - it could take out a Jawa at 500 meters?”

“No - almost a thousand!” he said, impressed with the new specs as he flicked to another page, thoroughly engrossed. “And the voltage - wow. This thing will fry you.”

“Sounds delightful.” Cara nudged him with her shoulder. “Come on. Bed.”

He caught her eye. “Were I still high, I’d crack another hilarious joke right now.”

“Oh yes - hilarious, Mr Tank Tank.”

Din cringed. “Oh gods, don’t remind me,” he replied as he climbed into bed after she helped him to remove the brace. “What a day,” he sighed as she sank into the welcoming pillows again, datapad in hand. “Sorry, Cara. All I’ve done is eat, drink, and sleep. Not to mention making a grinning fool out of myself, as if things hadn’t been bad enough already.” He paused for a moment as realisation sunk in. “Kriff. I’ve taken your bed. I’ll go back-” He moved to get out of bed to return to his room.

“You stay right where you are,” she said, interrupting him. “That camp bed is too low for you. I’ll stay there for now until Pachix is satisfied that everything has mended satisfactorily for you. Anyway, you need the space, and those extra pillows behind you will stop you from turning over.”

He smiled at her and then gave a self-satisfied sniff as he tucked the soft sheet up around his neck. “Good. I’d really no intention of going anywhere.”

“Keep it up, Hedgehog-face. You’ll find yourself sleeping outside with the lava-kats if you’re not careful.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Hedgehog-face?”

“You still have some spiky hair,” she replied cheekily. “Makes for quite the look. Fuzz and spikes. Suits you. It’s much better to have a cute little hedgehog-face rather than the helmet.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Nar'sheb.”

She cupped her hand around her ear. “What was that? I mean, it sounded a lot like Mando’a for ‘shove it’, but you would know better than to say that to me, right?” She could see his lips twitching with a barely suppressed smile.

“I’d never say that to you.”

“That’s what I thought.” She grinned at him. “G’night, Din. I’m glad you’re doing better. Enjoy the munitions reading.”

“This is not how I thought I’d feel this morning. I still can’t believe all the pain is gone. Thank you, Cara. Really.”

“You’re welcome,” she said with a warm smile. “It’s great to see you getting better, Din. Sleep well.”

He gave her a wink as she left him alone, and he settled down with his data catalogue. After all, there would be adventures out there, and he quite fancied having a decent munitions cache to help him on his way. Jawas would think twice before picking apart any ship on his in the future, that was for sure.

A happier Mando found a whole section on electro-repulsion generators. Between them, Ambans, blast charges and blasters, Din eventually nodded off for his first proper pain-free and drug-free sleep in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed High!Din and that he wasn't too dopey. Also, I am convinced that Grogu helped Din recover from the injury he received at the end of Chapter 8. Otherwise, a squirt of bacta spray can ensure that no matter how terrible the injuries our hero suffers, he'll never be in any real danger. Bacta is too convenient - like some sort of magic potion from Asterix. So, there might be a side-effect or two that has gone unnoticed until now, thanks to lil' Grogu.
> 
> There's more to come, now that Mando is better. After all, there's a Darksaber lurking in a gun locker, right? ;-)
> 
> (Also, Din in the Sandcrawler with the Jawas in Chapter 2 made me laugh. He does smash his head on the ceiling, and his despairing headshake combined with his general air of being utterly fed-up is excellent. It's a brief moment but I loved it.)


End file.
